Disclaimer: I own nothing. Also, this is my first real attempt at a fanfic. Please R&R, but please be generous, I wanna get better! Oh, and I haven't reached Level 71 on my Bard yet and therefore have not learned the song Goddess's Hymnus. Regardless, I do know its purpose and have changed it (and other details) only for dramatic purposes. Enjoy. :)
Fear Not, My Child
by Whittaker - Bahamut Server
It had been a long day. I had been working since the sun came up over the eastern horizon, and now that same sun was sinking drowsily to the west. My back ached from hunching over the workbench, and my joints crackled as I stretched after hours of delicate woodworking. Scattered about me were the fruits of my labor – broken dowels and fletchings, shattered crystals, shrapnel from a dozen splinters. Most important, however, was the ten identical piles of arrows which sat at the corner of my desk, arrows that would fetch a good price at the auction house tomorrow morning.
I glanced at the clock and saw that the tavern would be opening soon. I started to pack my things. Unlike many of the other adventurers in Jeuno, I did not possess the inexplicable need to be constantly – obsessively – on the move. Watching them running back and forth from my window, I'd wonder if any of them would keel over from sheer exhaustion now and then.
No, I liked to sit back and enjoy the company of my peers. Sometimes, I thought I could live an exciting life just by listening to their stories, by living vicariously through their escapades. Through others, Kirin and Vrtra and Tiamat came to life for me, and I didn't have to risk my life in the process. Knowing this, I spent a few evenings every week nursing an ale at the pub.
I knew my moogle would clean up after me, so I swept my cape over my shoulders and headed for the Beau Soir. Something inside me whispered tonight would be a special night.
The fireplace always had a hypnotic effect on me. It wasn't a particularly cold night outside, but the flickering of the firelight made the small room cozy. The ale at the Beau Soir was famous for its sweetness, which made it popular despite its small size.
"A single persikos au lait, please."
It wasn't the fact that someone ordered the most expensive drink on the menu that caught my attention. Rather, it was the fact that he wore tattered clothing and a particularly large, round hat that could only mean that he was a traveling minstrel.
The bard wearily sat down at the fireplace and removed his hat. He stared steadily into the fire, much as I had been doing before he walked into the pub. But his gaze was like that of the undead, never blinking, never changing focus. If I myself had not seen him sit down, I would have taken him for an incredibly life-like statue.
"No tune for us tonight, minstrel?" I asked.
Unmoving, he replied, "I have no need to sing for my wages, good sir."
"Then sing for the sake of our weary souls. Music does much to make light of our troubles."
I saw his shoulders move up and down in a patient sigh. "A bard cannot just sing the words to a song, sir, but must feel it in his very bones. I am afraid I am in no condition for merriment tonight."
"Alas, it is a sad day for all when a bard cannot be convinced to sing. What is it, pray tell, that robs us of one of our very few earthly comforts?"
At last, the bard turned to me and pierced me with his gaze. "It is a long story to tell. Ask me to continue only if you will listen to the whole of my tale."
I smiled. "Altana created Elvaan ears to be especially good at listening."
"In that case, be well aware," he said, turning back to the hearth, "my story starts many years ago.
"It is one of fire, of nightmares, and of starlight…"